Social Experience
by SereneT'gai
Summary: Spock comes to a subtle realization when confronted with a new social experience. Rating may change way later, more chapters to come.
1. Chapter 1

**Social Experience**

It had been an extraordinarily long week.

Of course, he knew that to be a colloquialism, of sorts. This week had been exactly as long as any other, and yet it felt as though his chronometer had stopped completely, as though he were not spinning in front of and around the same, alien sun as he had been for nearly the last 7 years, and, if he were being especially overdramatic, as though space and time had somehow disconnected to root him interminably to his desk chair.

He had sent his teaching assistant on an errand to his quarters 2 hours and 32 minutes previously to retrieve the rest of his students essay PADDs that still needed to be graded under the assumption that he would be finished with any other duties far earlier than he inevitably was. He had received a great number of calls with questions and complaints regarding the academy's recent curriculum changes, which he had been instrumental in implementing, and had sent Cadet Uhura a missive that she was, instead, relieved for the evening. Given that the downpour of, what was earlier in the day, light rain had picked up drastically, she had informed him that she would rather simply complete them in his apartment, as she had no wish to make another venture outside. She had used the space before while he was in meetings or otherwise engaged, and her comfort in it had been a source of discomfort to him at the start, but after having found nothing to have been disturbed, or even any bother on his part at her continued presence for long after he arrived, he had no qualms with her using it as just another secluded, and quiet place to work.

He had never set his comm unit to its 'do not disturb' setting, but did so then as he extinguished the light in his office. He felt his patience growing exceptionally thin with each passing day of this week, and did not believe he had ever looked so forward to the moment when his door would close behind him, would shield him from the noise of the inner city, would shroud him in a warmth he did not otherwise feel on this planet that he had yet to know any semblance of fondness for.

He was soaked with rain, having seen no need in the weather report to have brought an umbrella, by the time he entered the lobby of the faculty housing, as if there could have been anything more to add to the day that this had already been, his boots squeaking on the tile in the turbo lift. His limbs were heavy as they carried him, and he could still smell Cadet Uhura's familiar scent outside of his door with a strength that would suggest she had either just left, or was still inside. Considering he could still see a sliver of his hallway light through the frame, he imagined the former held true, and would with all likelihood be required to remind her again of her curfew, which he himself had kept her past on more than one occasion. The weekend lengthened it significantly, but he was quite sure she would not wish to stay long after he saw her.

Triggering his entry, he stepped out of his boots to drop them in the hall, expecting to be greeted with apologies from around the corner for her mere existence in his quarters, an illogically frequent occurrence given her permission to be there, but did not. He brought himself around that corner, and found her at his dining room table, surrounded by the very PADDs she had vowed to complete.

Asleep.

He had, in fact, noticed an unusual slowness in her general gait during their office hours, but had not thought to ascertain the meaning behind this behavior after she had answered him in the affirmative that she was, indeed, well.

In that moment, he also noticed that, although she was still in her cadets' uniform, she had taken her hair down, the tie being wrapped around one of the slender wrists her head was laid on, and it hung over the edge of the table dark, smooth, and very long.

He could similarly describe her legs as that, a part of her anatomy his eyes wandered to of their own accord when his concentration could not be held on his work. Her breath was shallow, but slow, and he took in a breath of his own to speak her name, only to let it out again, uncertain as to the proper way to wake a young, human woman. He did not believe it correct to shake her. He imagined that would be rather alarming. The slide of the front door had been too soft to stir her, and he could surmise that tapping the table may prove to be equally frightening. In either scenario, admiring her relaxed form was not bringing him any closer to the least disturbing answer, and he was aware that, should she awaken and find him doing that, she would be quite disturbed, so he took a small step back, and straightened.

"Cadet Uhura?"

Her eyelashes, which he could truthfully refer to as rather beautiful, fluttered lightly against her cheek, but he had not elicited any other notable reaction. He raised his voice a bit.

"Cadet."

Again, nothing. He extended his arm, but pulled it back again, his mouth hanging open with more words he was unsure would be correct in such uncharted parameters. He had never been required to forcibly waken his mother, and he would certainly never have anticipated his need for the experience had he been. Human women seemed to be somewhat similar, however. He did not think his mother would have been angered by a slight… jostling, in any case…were he to be in a situation that called for it. Which, he was.

Tentatively, he placed a hand over the fabric at her back, lowering his voice in a way he hoped would counteract the comparative forwardness of his action.

"Nyota."

He found himself pushing back fast and far enough, as to be nearly pressed against the opposing wall with the strength of her response.

In the short time it took him to blank his facial features, she was standing, her personal PADD held in front of her for what he assumed was the current hour, her breath seeming to him to be stuck in her chest. She let it out in a yawn that she covered in her arm, and a soft whine that nervously quickened his heart, his stomach twisting in what he thought was nausea, but not quite.

"I'm sorry. I was… I promise, I'm not usually this… I don't know."

"It is of no consequence, though I would suggest greater specificity in your future explanations."

She huffed a laugh, and nodded, as she sat back into the chair she had sprung from, rubbing her eyes briefly before straightening the devices in a way that relaxed him enough to take a step forward.

"I have like five left, I'll take them home. Judging by the state of your uniform, I can… guess it's still raining?"

"Tumultuously, yes. If you would prefer, you are welcome to stay and complete the remaining PADDs here, as I imagine the weather will clear before you must return to the student building."

"Are you sure? You look tired, I really wouldn't mind just walking back."

"Contrarily, you have once today expressed a strong dislike for traveling in the rain. Furthermore, I would not feel comfortable allowing you to do this on your own, regardless of your changed opinion, and given that mine has not, I would prefer it if you were to remain until it is, at the very least, far lighter."

"So you don't want me to walk home by myself, but you don't want to go with me until the rain lets up?"

"Precisely. Although, I would be amenable if you had a prior engagement. I have come to understand that most cadets typically make plans to celebrate the end of the work week."

"And you don't?"

"No."

"Have you also come to understand that, typically, all you do is work?"

"I have heard similar sentiments employed to describe yourself."

"I cannot argue that, which is why it would be illogical to assume that I have a prior engagement to kick off the weekend."

"I did not assume. I merely stated that it was typical. Having said that, I have also come to understand that you are not a typical cadet."

"Oh? Can I pretend that's a compliment?"

"In your case, I suppose it is, though I assure you my reasoning is factual."

"As is typical. Well, I guess I'm going to make some coffee then, which I may or may not have researched how to reprogram your replicator to make for me, if I'm going to be here. Is that okay?"

"As it is typical in Vulcan culture for the guest in a home to prepare such things for oneself, I am not offended, though again, I would remind you that it is illogical to ask if a thing is 'okay' once it has already been done."

"Sorry."

"As I said, an apology is pointless."

"Okay," she laughed, and stood to head toward his kitchen, but turned to pause, her hand on the wall frame. "You don't have to sit here with me in a wet uniform, you know."

He had quite forgotten his state of dress. Or rather, the thought of it had no longer been bothering him. In circumstances such as these, he supposed it could not be helped, as she was, as she had always been, incredibly easy to converse with. Nevertheless, he still felt a bit uneasy with himself.

"Is it not improper for me to be in anything else, in this context?"

"The context is that it's pouring rain, so I'm going to finish these essays here, and then go home when it's not. The setting might be what someone would find strange, but, no, I don't think so."

"Very well. If you would not mind, my tea is in the cabinet above the replicator."

"You got it," she said, and disappeared behind the partition.

Once the door to his bedroom had closed behind him, he leaned against it for a moment, fighting to center a dizzying feeling of near giddiness. She had agreed to remain, and it made him feel almost… excited. Generally, when confronted with new social experiences, he had found himself wrestling for control over lingering doubts and anxieties, but for the last 2 years, Nyota had been there to quietly explain to him what was happening, and why it was normal, or was the source of them all together. He had not attended a Starfleet function without her after the first 6 months of her employment under him. He rarely felt as though he had to think long on what next was appropriate to say, and never felt as though his Vulcan demeaner was offending her. She had never left a questioning message from him unanswered, and had never given him an explanation he felt unreliable. Even the majority of his other students found him less intimidating now with her help, if not more relatable, and he was truly grateful.

He pondered the idea of thanking her for this another time, while he stripped his wet clothing off into the refresher, and pulled on an outfit he deemed casual, and warm enough to walk her home in later. He pushed his still damp hair out of his face, unwilling to trouble anymore with it, and exited his room to the smell of coffee mixing with the spices in his most preferred tea, a scent that would have made him feel nostalgic for his mother's kitchen, were he so inclined toward such sentimentality. She was sitting in the same chair she had been, stylus in hand, her hair pulled back again into its usual fashion, although far more hastily done than it was before she had left their office to come here, and paid him no more mind than she ever did when her thoughts were occupied with work or her studies. He sat into the chair to her right where she had placed his mug, and took a PADD from the dwindling stack of ones uncompleted, reading in silence next to her with an acquired comfort he did not believe he would ever come to know.

He had listened with unbecoming dismay to the beat of the rain on the roof recede to the point that he assumed it had come to a total stop, as the last PADD was finished, their mugs emptied, and cleaned. The frustration he felt for the week had shifted to an illogical wish that it could be repeated sooner than the intervening weekend would allow so that he might look forward to seeing her enter the office, the break room, his classrooms again at their respected time while they pulled their jackets and shoes on in the hallway.

They rode the lift down together, and discussed his students essays on the walk back to her dorm block, but his mind was not as focused on her words as they normally were. He had heard many professors thank their assistants in the way he was thinking on, but knew that it would be seen in a different light were he to be the one posing the suggestion. She climbed two stairs up to their destination before turning to face him again, fidgeting with the zipper on her little coat.

"Look, I want to thank you for trusting me in your apartment. It's been really helpful to get away from Gaila every once in a while, as much as I love her, and even the library has been pretty crowded recently, and I don't like to be in the office building by myself, so… thank you… for that."

She had done this before. She would plainly apologize for something he had been unable to logically express regret regarding, or bluntly voice an opinion he had for so long been attempting to place in the most politically correct manner. He could go as far as to say that their thoughts simply fit, their personalities so vastly different, and yet in almost every way compatible. He imagined he may not even find it especially difficult to explain their odd relationship to a Vulcan were one ever to ask, or find themselves in their company. She was still awaiting his response with her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes illuminated by the soft light of the street lamp staring ever so slightly down at him from her elevated position, as she was not one to be made to feel inferior based upon her petite stature.

"I had also thought to thank you for your assistance with my classes, as well as your persistent understanding of some of my more oblivious traits. I am aware that I am… not easily understood, and yet you do. If… If it would not be inappropriate, and would not interfere with your schedule, I would like to take you to dinner tomorrow evening, as I do not feel as though I have adequately expressed my appreciation for you during your time in my employment."

After a quick dart of her wide eyes up to his, she held them on the steps below her feet, but he could see her cheeks stretching to form a smile when he ducked his head to try and catch her gaze, which he did not. Even with his superior hearing, he could hardly make out her saying,

"It isn't."

"It is not what?"

"Inappropriate to ask a cadet to dinner in this context."

"May I pretend that this is an acceptance, then?"

"That would be logical."

"Factual?"

"Reasonable."

"Accurate?"

"Yes. I would love to."

"Then I will make a reservation for 1900 tomorrow, if that is acceptable."

"Sure. I'll, um… I'll see you tomorrow then. Goodnight, Commander."

He nodded, and watched her walk up the remainder of the stairs until he could no longer see her at all. He barely noticed the temperature, which would have been nearly intolerable if he were not so concentrated on the wind in the leaves of the large oak trees above him as he paced back to his apartment, or the water moving over the rocks in the pond near the building, or the memory of her hushed voice so near to him flushing his face, and plucking at the place in his mind where every blocked feeling was held back like a dam in a flooded river. Overwhelmed by one, he stopped halfway between where he had left and where he was going to close his eyes on the deserted sidewalk, and listen to the planet he was on.

He heard, and yet did not, various animals, either tucking away, or coming alive as the sun had long set around them.

He heard, and yet did not, thunder somewhere distant, and did not resent it.

He heard hover cars and buses in the neighboring streets outside of the academy walls, and yet he did not, as all of these noises were drowned by her.

For the first time since he was a boy, he did not meditate once he was prepared for bed, warm and comfortable in a familiar setting, but instead sat up against his headboard and read a fictional novel his mother had bought him over a decade ago that he had always thought to be an illogical waste of time. When it was finished, he watched an older movie that held no educational value whatsoever. When it shut off, he learned a new composition on a virtual piano he kept on his personal PADD for no other reason than because he simply enjoyed playing it, and when his muscles had memorized it, he shut that off too. He closed his eyes again late that night to the growing feeling of anticipation in his stomach for his evening with a woman who had taught him as much about his characteristics, and how to present them, as he had taught her about the stars, and how to navigate them.

His mother had told him, time and again, before he had left her that he would grow accustomed to, and perhaps even fond of the planet she called her home, and he felt, if just for a moment, that she would be proud.


	2. Chapter 2

He rarely ever dreamed, but this night, he did.

There were not so many images as there were sounds, the recognition of which seeming to be just out of his grasp, as he looked into the texture of the ceiling above, his own even breath the only noise he heard now. He assumed it was due to the break in routine of his nightly meditation, as with such control over his subconscious, rampant and muddled visions were almost not possible if he did not, for some reason, wish for them. He had not done so, and yet he laid awake in the darkness of pre-dawn, contemplating.

He felt for himself, felt his fingers in his sheets, felt his hair sticking up at the crown of his head, as he generally found it when he awoke. His heart was steady in his side while he turned to look upon the empty space in what he once thought to be a pointlessly large bed, but overall, he felt the calm he always did at this time of morning, hours prior to the world around joining him in full alertness.

Unable to close his eyes again, he rose to dress for the day and prepared his morning tea, which he took onto the balcony that had seen little use since he inhabited the space. The sky was as grey as it was blue, the promise of yet another bout of rain on the horizon while the sun began to peak over it, but the thick fog of the city did not stretch so far as the serenity he felt in the stillness and quiet, and he was content.

It was warmer than it had been the day before, and given that he had risen nearly a full hour earlier than was normal for him, he padded off into the hallway to pull his boots on, and head for the small park that was set into the middle of campus. The smell of wet grass was still something of a novelty to him, and he did not find it unwarranted to acclimate himself to it when there were no other pressing matters to be attended. He walked unhurried along the sidewalk, utterly undisturbed until he saw the slight figure of a woman sitting on one side of a bench at the entrance of the park he sought. She looked up at him as he drew nearer to her, and with a soft smile, picked up the PADD she had placed on her opposite side for him to replace it with himself. The smell of her coffee was escaping through the lid of the metal cup she held in her hands, and he watched her tap the toe of her shoe on the concrete after she had turned a bit to face him. Her voice blended into the damp air around them in a most pleasant way when she said,

"G'Morning."

"Good morning."

"Are you always up this early?"

"Nearly, yes. Yourself?"

"Almost never. I'm not much of a morning person, but… I didn't sleep very well."

"To be truthful, I did not either."

"Really? I'm sorry."

"You apologize far too often for circumstantial occurrences outside of your control."

"I know."

She did not further expand, and silence passed between them again, as they watched a bunny shuffle through the grass nearby until it was no longer in view, having joined its many relatives in the trails, or so he imagined. She gave a sigh when it left them, and the sound gave him a flash of something he could not place, much like a memory he did not have, but that he remembered nonetheless. He was unable to think on it long before his peripheral vision caught her thumb running over the lip of her cup.

"So…um…"

"Yes?"

"Do you… know where you want to go for dinner later?"

"Do you have a preference?"

"No, not really. Something with a good amount of vegetarian options?"

"That would be appreciated."

"Mhm. Well… there's a Vietnamese place over by headquarters that I haven't been to in a while. We'd have to take the bus, though."

"I will drive you."

"Oh that's right, I forgot. Why do you even have a car? You walk pretty much everywhere."

"It was given to me as a part of my salary when I accepted the position as First Officer, as a trip to the shipyard is a monthly requirement. Although, you are correct in that it would be more logical for me to take a shuttle when my presence is needed, given how infrequently the vehicle is used otherwise."

"It would shorten the trip quite a bit, I bet."

"By over an hour. A fact which was mentioned—"

"And promptly ignored."

"Yes."

"That's unfortunate."

He nodded, though he neither agreed nor disagreed, and focused on his hands in his lap to keep from staring, while she pulled her feet up under her in the way she always did when she sat somewhere for more than a moment. He wondered if the caffeine in her drink was what made her so restless, as she consumed an average of three cups daily while in his company during working hours, and if this morning were any indication, this was not her limit.

"Have you always drunk coffee so habitually?"

"Since I was in highschool. Now I feel like I can barely function without it."

"That may be because caffeine has been proven to be highly addictive. My mother has an intense affinity for the beverage."

"Have you ever tried it?"

"I have not."

"Well… there's a first for everything."

She turned the cup toward him, wrapping her hand around the very bottom of it so as to minimize the likelihood of touching his skin, and he took it from her.

The moment it went across his tongue, he had a strange compulsion to spit it back out again, which he of course, did not indulge, but his expression, however minute, was more difficult to contain, and he was sure this was the cause of her smile.

"That is exceptionally sweet."

"Is hate for sugar just a Vulcan thing?"

"Hate in itself is not a Vulcan 'thing', though it can be said that most do not take sugar in much, if anything."

"Well, I love it, and take it in everything."

"Then I believe the correct response would be that, if you are so fond… perhaps you should marry it."

He had heard this said before, and was gratified by her look of shock at what he supposed was a joke, her laughter ringing through the small field they were in before lightening lit up the sky, the subsequent thunder being loud enough to make her jump on the bench. She grabbed the PADD she had brought when they stood, and he followed her toward the student building as light raindrops began to fall on their shoulders. It was a very short walk, and he bid her farewell after she had refused to allow him to escort her from where they were to his car when it came time for their evening, claiming that she could meet him at his quarters without the 'extra effort' on his part.

Sitting at the desk in his bedroom, he queued a hail to Vulcan on his subspace unit, a sense of newfound nervousness forcing him to think hard on keeping his leg from bouncing on the carpet. It would be late evening there, but he was not surprised when the concerned face of his mother appeared before him.

"Spock? Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I wondered if I might ask you a series of questions regarding human dining customs."

"Still one to jump right into things, I see. Tell me how you've been, please, first."

"Mother, I have—"

"Please?"

"I am still consuming an average of 3,500 calories per day. My active duty injury has healed completely. My students are progressing adequately. I am still of the same rank. I drank coffee for the first time today. I have asked a human woman to join me for dinner tonight, and I need your help."

She was silent for 6 seconds, her face an almost identical mask of shock as the other he had recently seen, and he did not attempt to stop his foot from tapping on the floor, as it was a habit she knew he had struggled with. Her eyes followed the movement, and her expression morphed into one of sympathy.

"Oh, my boy," she sighed, and placed her hand on the screen before dropping it again. "What do you want to know?"

"What should I do?"

"That depends, honey. Who is it?"

"My teaching assistant."

"Cadet Uhura? Are you sure you're allowed to—"

"It is not as you think. She has been a very proficient aid, and I wish to thank her for it."

"So, she's going as your friend, then."

"She… Pardon?"

"Your friend, son. You speak of her nearly every time you speak to me _._ She's your friend, yes?"

"I am uncertain."

"You spend more time with her than anyone else you currently know, correct?"

"Yes."

"Does this bother you?"

"Not at all."

"Does this bother her?"

"I do not believe so."

"Then, given every other thing you've said about her, she's your friend. Would I be incorrect to assume that you wish her to be more than that?"

"As I am her commanding officer, that would be highly unethical."

"To be sure, but you did not answer the question."

"I did."

"Spock, allow me to take this time to remind you that I am your mother, but I will not press you. Now, _sit still,_ and tell me what you plan to wear."

1 hour and 18 minutes later, he had ended the transmission, and now stood in front of his mirror, 25 minutes before Cadet Uhura was set to arrive. At his mother's suggestion, he had meditated on the reasoning behind his anxiety, but it had been inconclusive. They had taken meals in the presence of each other every Monday and Wednesday for an amount of time that should not make this any different, though the variables certainly were.

They had always been in uniform then, but this time, they would not be.

There was always a professional purpose then, to discuss work or their schedules, but this time, there would not be.

There was never any apprehension behind their meetings then, but this time, it simply could not be eradicated.

He was on his couch reviewing a staffing conflict sent to him so untimely by Captain Pike, when he heard her familiar footsteps outside, and shortly after, inside his front door, as it was never locked, so he stood, but could not move again for a moment when she came into his line of vision. Her dress was rather tight, but not overly so, coming to stop just below her knees in a deep green that suited her skin tone very well. He found that he much preferred her hair down, and it was, hanging low on her back, as her fingers worried at one of her golden earrings.

"Earth to Commander Spock. Are you ready?"

"Yes. I am. You look very nice."

"So do you! You're wearing a tie!"

A tie that was suddenly much tighter than it had been, so he merely nodded, cursing his speechlessness.

"Shall we?"

"After you, sir."

He had not noticed the restaurant before, a wonder considering it was, as she had said, quite close to headquarters, but the drive had calmed him somewhat. She talked animatedly throughout it about various things, ranging from her afternoon at a shopping mall with her Orion roommate, to her parents' reaction when she had informed them, over what was apparently a weekly phone call, of her plans with an ambassador's son. It was very similar to his mother's initial assumptions on the matter, but he did not mention it. She had continued during their dinner, which was admittedly not as objectionable as he thought it might be, and now there they sat, her with an elaborate drink at her side, he satisfied to do nothing more than listen. That is, until she had recommended they play a game.

"It's like 20 Questions, only I'm going to ask you ten, and you should answer them."

"Should I?"

"Yes, please. You're in charge of keeping count, and we'll start with something super easy. Do you have a favorite color?"

"One. No."

"Do you have a least favorite color?"

"Two. No."

"You're already bad at this game, how is that?"

"I have answered two questions, so far."

"Hardly! When is your birthday?"

"On Earth, or on Vulcan?"

"Earth."

"Three. January 6th, 2230."

"Oh, that's coming up soon, good to know. Vulcans don't really celebrate birthdays though, do they?"

"Four. No."

"That doesn't count!"

"It was posed as a question, was it not?"

"Ugh, fine. Um… if I put less sugar in my coffee, would you try it again?"

"Five. No."

"God," she laughed, and slumped back into her seat. "Do you have a favorite—or no, do you have a _most preferred_ song, and if so, what is it?"

"Six and seven. I cannot choose a single one, though, since I have been labeled as 'bad' at this game, I will elaborate and say that, surprisingly, I prefer Terran genres over Vulcan ones."

"Really?"

"Eight. Yes."

"Spock! I'm almost out already, and then it's your turn. Okay. Um… oh, this one is easy. Are you having fun? No, wait, scratch that. Are you having a pleasant evening?"

"Nine. Yes."

"Good, I'm glad. I am, too… I actually have another one in my head, but I'm not sure if I should ask it."

"Why not?"

"Well, I'm trying to think of a way to phrase it that will… allow you, I guess… to answer it."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just—it… It's kind of emotional."

"I see."

"Mhm. Um…"

"You are welcome to ask it, though I cannot guarantee an answer."

"No, no, I get it. Well… I know that living on Earth has been a pretty big adjustment for you, so… What do you miss most about Vulcan?"

She had, indeed, been correct in her assessment of emotionalism, but his mind turned it over anyway. He spoke with his mother regularly enough that he did not have much of a reason to miss her, given that. He had not spoken at all to his father in many years, and nothing but disappointment would follow an admission of longing for it, if he did. The thought of his former bondmate almost never crossed his thoughts, and his commitment to her was genuinely the only thing that held him back from travelling far outside of Shi'Kahr, let alone off planet, and he most assuredly did not miss her, the feeling being entirely mutual. The question made him a bit uncomfortable, but he had no wish to make her feel so.

"Ten… I cannot say."

"Okay." She nodded loosely, releasing her lip from her teeth just long enough to say, "Your turn."

He had asked her close to all of the same questions on their drive back to the academy regarding her preferences, and she had asked him nine more of her own on the walk back to her dorm block. The roads and sidepaths were crowded, as it was a Saturday evening, but he did not mind it, and they moved so closely together, he had had to put his hands in his pockets to avoid bumping into her own while they turned the last corner to the student building. She stepped up only a single stair this time to address him in the same quiet voice she always did when they stood in the spot.

"Thank you for taking me tonight. I had a lot of fun, even though you suck at both asking, and answering questions that don't have anything to do with starships."

"The purpose of the evening was to thank _you,_ and I apologize."

"No, I was just kidding. But really… you didn't have to do this for me."

"It was hardly an inconvenience. You are my friend."

Her hands, which had been pulling at a loose string, froze.

"You… I am?"

"That is officially twenty questions, and I believe you are."

"No, I—Yes. Of course, I am. Of course."

"Then it would be logical to ask if I will see you tomorrow."

She gave him the smile he was hoping for, shifting back and forth on her feet, and he wished she would bring her eyes up from them.

"Yes, it would."

"Will I?"

"Yeah. Yeah, just… call me tomorrow?"

"I will."

"Okay… Tomorrow." She ran her palm down the sleeve of his jacket, and he felt himself both tense, and lean into her in an odd contradiction, as she said, "Goodnight, Spock."

"Goodnight."

He watched her walk halfway up the stairs, he himself taking three steps toward the direction they had come, and stopped. He heard all the things he had the previous evening. The animals. The trees. The water. He saw the moon above him, as essential to life on this planet as any of those things, dulling in comparison to the fullness and brightness of her. He had learned so many things about her in the span of a singular evening, and earnestly felt that, were she anyone else, he would not have listened. Would not have asked, or seen, or heard.

But she was not.

"Nyota."

Before his mind could justify the action, he was taking the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering, as he caught her at the door to the building, and gripped her fingers in his to turn her back around to him. He heard her pull in a breath just before he reached her, and her eyes were wide, but the moment their skin touched, her expression burst into one he could not make, but that was bombarding her though the psionic connections in his fingertips. Excitement. Elation.

"The heat."

"The… What?"

"The heat is what I miss. The temperature."

She nodded with a smile wide enough that he could see her perfect, human teeth, and he felt the corners of his mouth pull back slightly in response to it, but could not clear it away in time, her back to him again, as she disappeared behind the waiting door.

His body floated him back to his apartment, disconnected, and with his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the clear light of Space Dock in the stars, he sent his mother, across the bond they shared, a feeling he had not had with such untethered strength since he was a child.

He was extremely, unrestrictedly, happy.


	3. Chapter 3

…

AN: Hey readers. Thanks a bunch to those of you reviewing. I've gotten some really positive PM's from you all, and I appreciate it very much. This story is a practice for me in organic and rhythmic dialogue, so I haven't written a plot chart for it at all. That being said, Spock and Uhura could go anywhere from here, so if there is anything you'd like to see in the story, review, and let me know. Thank you for reading, and on with the show!

…

Over the course of the next month, they were inseparable, and he had noticed a subtle difference in their mannerisms during this time.

They had not touched, either accidentally or purposefully, again, but sat slightly closer together on the small couch in his office than before they had. When she worked in his apartment, because she still sometimes did, she sat on the floor in front of the coffee table in his living room, rather than at a chair in front of the table in his dining room, as comfortable in this space as she was at any desk in any classroom. Nearly all of their meals were taken off campus, either in or out of uniform, and his anxiety over this seemed a distant memory. It had become a recurring event for them to venture out for dinner every Saturday evening, and with each new restaurant, their friendship grew to the point that they had nearly run out of questions to ask during her most requested game.

He knew that her grandmother made a recipe for a cake that she greatly enjoyed, but that no matter how many attempts she made at replicating it, it did not taste the same.

She knew how much he secretly loathed the bulky hat of his ceremonial dress uniform, as it was not designed to take into account the shape of his ear.

He knew that she was exceptionally partial to frozen yogurt, but only the mango flavoring.

She knew that he had accidently eaten a comparatively large amount of chocolate when he was a cadet himself, as it was white, and that he had become so dizzy, he had had to skip his last two classes.

She preferred most things to be sweet and light, and she like paper books, and ornate teacups, and the feeling of sand under her feet, and this list of things he knew of her went on so that he could no longer compartmentalize them adequately. Instead, they filled his thoughts at all times.

This particular Saturday was no different, part of his mind conjuring the image of her with her family dog, the other posting his students' final exam scores, while he waited for her to arrive at his door. He waited, and waited, and had completed both his Advanced Phonology and his Interstellar Navigation courses before he grew concerned. She had yet to arrive, and it was unlike her to be late, even when promptness did not technically matter. Her assertion to walk to his quarters alone had coerced him every week to resort to simple distraction when he knew that she would be on her way, as he had a distrustful tendency toward making rather dark assumptions in regards to the more wayward male cadets on campus. If it were to occur, she would most certainly not be the first assault to take place within the grounds, and he was unsure that he would be able to keep a neutral bearing were he to hear of it.

35 minutes past her scheduled arrival time, he pulled out his comm unit, and listened for her, as the dial tone turned to her voicemail. He knew that she had a terrible habit of ignoring a primary call if a secondary did not immediately follow it, so he tried again, but received the same result. He forced a breath into his lungs.

"Computer: locate Cadet Third Class Uhura, Nyota A."

"Location found. Student Building, Dorm Block C, Door Number 305."

He moved to stand by his wall terminal, his head tilting to the side in a near compulsory reaction when confronted with perplexity. She had not left her room at all. He buzzed her intercom, which, if the layout had not changed since he had lived there, should be by her bed, and within a few moments, she answered it on audio only.

"Yes?"

"Nyota? Are you unwell?"

"I'm okay."

Her voice was in a much higher pitch than was normal, her sinuses obviously obstructed, and his stomach dropped into his boots.

"You are crying. What has happened?"

"Nothing."

"There would be no need for such distress if nothing has occurred. Are you hurt?"

"No..."

"Open your screen."

"No."

"I am ending this transmission, and coming to get you."

"No! I look… I've been… It's nothing, Spock, I was just… talking to someone, and it made me upset, that's all."

"You were in an argument?"

"Something like that, I guess, I don't know."

"You do not know with certainty if you were in an argument?"

"I was—it… it wasn't really an argument, but kind of. You know how… my dissertation, or whatever, is coming up?"

"Yes."

"I was working on it, until your mom sent me an article I liked a lot, so I went—"

"My mother?"

"Yeah, she… emailed me the title, and I hadn't said anything to her about my paper, but it looked like it would help with it, so… I went to the library to find the journal it was in. I talk to her like once or twice a week, you didn't know that?"

"I—"

"Whatever, it doesn't matter, I went to the library to find it, was in the Foreign Language section, and you know what's right next to the Foreign Language section, right?"

"Federation Law."

"Mhm. In that section, were Loak and Thoria, discussing the best way to go about reporting us for the amount of time we've been spending together."

"Pardon?"

"You heard what I said, Spock. Because apparently it's so unfair, or some dumbass shit like that, that I have the most brilliant professor in StarFleet 'doing my homework for me.'"

"That is untrue."

"Yeah, I said that."

"You confronted them on the subject, then?"

"Yes! I mean, how often do I actually have to ask you for help like that?"

"Rarely, and even if you were to do this more often, it is not against regulation to ask a professor for assistance. My comparative proficiency is at the disposal of these cadets, also."

"Yeah, I said that, too. I don't know it just made me really upset, because they said they were going to file a fucking _accusation report_ to send in to the Dean, and I really like hanging out with you, because it's not like we're doing anything wrong, but—but I don't want you to think you can't see me anymore now, or for someone to tell me that I can't be your TA at all! What if they—"

"Nyota, as I am in a tenured position, I am the only individual who is authorized to terminate your employment, and this information has not driven me to do so. Furthermore, I am well acquainted with the Dean of this academy, and am quite under the impression that she will not take seriously a report filed on the basis of a rumor."

"But—"

"I believe I can assume that this threat is due to the fact that your scores have been consistently higher than the ones of these cadets, and I have never altered any system to make them this way. In opposition, I have been told by three of your other professors during your time here that I marked you far more harshly than your peers—"

"—Asshole—"

"—because I genuinely believe you to be peerless. Nyota, truly, I am unconcerned. Do not trouble yourself with this to such a degree."

"But they said that… Should I go talk to them again?"

"No."

"Should I talk to the Dean about it?"

"I would not suggest it."

"But… Are you sure it's really not a big deal?"

"I would not say so if I were not."

"No, you… you wouldn't. You're right," she sniffed, and he heard her shift on her bed, her breath still shivering a bit, but her voice even enough to relax some of the tension he held in his shoulders. "Well... I'm not really dressed now, but we could still go to dinner sometime tonight, if you want."

"We do not have to."

"No, it's fine. Gaila is… out anyway. We could… just go on a walk together, instead. Go to that park, or something."

"I would not be opposed."

"Okay. Wanna just meet me there?"

"Yes. I will be there shortly."

"Alright. See you soon."

He closed the audio window, and let out a sincere, and authentic sigh. He felt as though he had been holding his breath throughout their entire conversation. He had never been so useless to her, and although he could hardly be considered completely emotionless, he hoped her own emotional state had improved by the time he reached her, as his knowledge of the sciences was not applicable to consoling a distraught, human female.

He searched for her when he entered the park, the walk having been almost completely deserted with a long break scheduled before them, many students having gone home to their parents. She was not sitting in what he now considered to be their bench, but he soon found her on a swing set within the large play area of the academy child care center, and he came to stand in front of her when she waved him over after their eyes had met. On a playground meant for a toddler, he could not help but to marvel at how young she looked with her makeup having been rubbed off, and visible to him were light freckles on her nose, and under her eyes that he had never seen before. She wore a pair of warm looking pajamas that had chocolate bars printed all over them, her hair wet and messy and long, and he was suddenly as nervous to speak to her as he had been on her first day in his class. There was not another woman in the universe who was so—

"Hey."

"Hello. Your… outfit is very interesting."

"Would not consider this an outfit, but thank you. Are you just going to stare at the swing, or are you going to sit on it?"

"It does not look as though it was built to withstand our combined weight."

"Have you ever been on one before?"

"Once. In fact, it was on my first visit to Earth."

"How old were you?"

"I was two years old."

"You remember that?"

"As a Vulcan, I can recall memories from as early as six weeks old."

"Six weeks? Sit down on the swing, please, you're looming, and what is there even _to_ remember that young?"

The corner of his lips twitched at her demand, but cautiously he sat on the swing to her right, planting his feet firmly in the sand to keep from moving about on the illogical thing. Her own feet were there too, only much smaller, bare, and almost entirely hidden in the dirt, so he continued so as not to stare.

"Granted that these memories are not as clear as ones more recent, I remember mostly a light that was kept on a table in my room that projected Vulcan constellations on the ceiling above my bed."

"What did you think of it?"

"It is difficult to explain. I did not speak, or think in any language then, but I have been told that I was an oddly powerful telepath for one of that age, and would project my feelings onto anyone when it was on. I was rather captivated by it."

"I actually had something similar when I was like 7 or 8, and I really loved mine, too."

He would not go as far as to say he loved an inanimate object even then, but did not disparage her the sentiment, as they listened to the many insects and other creatures outside of the fence around them. He very much enjoyed these moments they spent with each other in the night air, their conversations comfortable and optional, rather than strained and socially necessary, which was how he generally found speech to be on this planet. A planet he may not be on for much longer.

"You are still planning to apply to the Enterprise upon your graduation, correct?"

"Of course. Why, has something changed in the launch schedule?"

"It continues to be in alignment with your graduating class. I am merely attempting to ascertain that the ship will have the most consummate staff."

"You say that as if I can help with that."

"I say that because I am not the only person who believes you can. My mother is among those impressed with your skill, and I say that because I was unaware you had been speaking with her."

"Yeah, I just… thought she would've told you already, so I didn't mention it. We both know you to be such a huge fan of redundancy."

"This is an example of sarcasm."

"Yes, it is. You're getting pretty good at that."

"I should say so. I am StarFleet's most brilliant professor."

"Oh, shut up," she giggled, and bumped her shoulder into his before she jumped from the swing. "Let's head back. I know it's early, but my head is starting to hurt now that I feel better."

"You have a headache because you feel better?"

"Yeah, when I've been crying, I… uh… It's a human thing. Come on."

On the walk back, he knew that he had never been to the African continent, but imagined her on it anyway, her hands pulling on the 'pigtails' she said she had had when she was that much younger, entranced with the artificial light of the celestial bodies pictured on her wall. He wondered if she knew then that she would be as close to them as she would soon be, and even given his certainty that luck was nothing more than a man made figmentation, with any of it, they would be there together. He hoped they would go anywhere, and everywhere together, the thought of her on a different ship almost too much to bear, as he watched her take one bare footed step up the staircase when they arrived too quickly at it.

"I'm sorry I didn't… at least message you earlier. That I wasn't going to make it over. I should have."

"It is of no consequence. It was not difficult to find you, but I would suggest answering your comm unit with more frequency when it rings, if you are to have one."

"Whatever you say, Professor, but no promises. But hey… does it… It doesn't bother you that I talk to your mom, right?"

"No. She is an extraordinary woman, and I believe the two of you to be much alike in that aspect. Why would this bother me?"

"Well, some people can see that as… as a… Nothing, don't worry about it. Will I see you tomorrow, or Monday, or…"

"Both, if you wish."

"Okay. I will answer my phone, then."

"That would be appreciated."

"Whatever. 'Night, Spock. Thanks for… coming to get me."

"You are most welcome." She smiled warmly at him for a moment, and turned to leave him there once more. He let her take two paces before his hand shot out to grab the cuff of her sleeve, an instinctual need to reassure her blooming in his chest with her cheeks still showing the evidence of the streaks left by her tears. "I… I feel that it would be prudent of me to inform you that there is almost nothing that will keep me from seeing you, and absolutely nothing that will disincline me toward wishing to. You said that this was something that was concerning you, and I thought that I had made my regard for you very clear, but I assure that I am no expert in this area. I am at my most comfortable when you are with me, and I would, indeed, prefer for you to simply call me if you are ever again so pained, rather than compelling me to search for you. I do not… I do not take pleasure in seeing you in such a state, but if you ever find yourself additionally in it, your ice cream is still in my—"

By reflex, his hands came out again to catch her, as he initially thought that she was falling off the step, her eyes dropping closed, but she wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed him with her head on his shoulder. His own remained suspended a while, more hesitant and unsure than he had ever been in any other way, before slumping limp and unavailing to his sides. She buried her face in his jacket with a sigh that made him light headed on the sidewalk, his eyelids fluttering, when one of his hands moved to rest on her back, but no matter how long he kept it there it was not enough, and his brows tightened, as he lifted her fully off the concrete. Something in his stomach, in his heart at his side, was intensifying with her fingers in his hair and on his skin at the back his neck to the point that he felt sick with it when she pressed a kiss on his shirt, and whispered into his collar,

"It's not ice cream, it's frozen yogurt."

He held her there for minutes he did not count.


End file.
